Rorschach
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: The now deceased villain Syndrome is infamous as a psychotic terrorist, but where did it all begin? Follow Buddy's transformation through conversations and therapy sessions with his only confidant: his psychologist. Her own attraction to power connects the two of them in ways she wishes she could take back. (Character study; 9 chapters; dark fic; smut in later chapters)
1. Meeting Buddy Pine

_**Rorschach**_

* * *

**Chapter One: Meeting Buddy Pine**

* * *

It has been a long day of sessions, and Meranda Castellanos is tiredly going over the notes she took during her consultation with her latest client. Castellanos' office is a tidy, small room with books lining the walls, two comfortable leather chairs and a large computer. Her Master's degree in Clinical Psychology hangs above her head in a simple black frame. She's adapting to the new office well, although some of her fellow pracititioners leave something to be desired. Castellanos did not choose to become a therapist so she could play petty mind games with her colleagues. She's in it for the thrill of the human mind, and for the knowledge that she can possibly help someone in changing the course of their life. It's why she left her previous job, and the job before that: she doesn't quite find what she's looking for anywhere, and she's hoping she can get it here.

Castellanos is strikingly attractive and somewhere in her mid twenties. She has high cheekbones, large almond-shaped green eyes and long, straight that spills over her shoulders in a fresh new style. Another client's father has already asked her out on a date but she politely declined with the knowledge that the man couldn't even provide his daughter with insurance- she cannot imagine dating a man who has to get pro bono care for his mentally disturbed child! Castellanos is no stranger to the cutthroat world of social-climbing. A private school education among other financially privileged young women taught her quite a few useful tricks. It's not the ethical predicament that makes her wary: she'd push the code of ethics, sure, but not for peanuts.

Her new client certainly has piqued her interest. They only had a 15 minute meeting, standard practice at this set of offices to determine whether the client's needs will be met by the therapist and whether they are a good fit. Castellanos believes that the session went well, especially considering the records that came along with her client. His previous therapists were not very lucky with him. In fact, hardly any progress was made and the client had been in therapy from age ten until now.

She cracks her knuckles and takes a sip from her dinner: a non-fat latte'. She studies her notes, making certain her thoughts are making sense. She's a workaholic, always has been, and she's intent on achieving perfection even when she's the only person who will be aware of it. Turning on the tape recorder in front of her, she begins speaking. Her voice is smooth and calm, with a slight Cuban accent.

"4/2/1969. Client name, Buddy Pine. Client age, fifteen years. Male. He was referred by his family doctor after a series of events took place at his high school that drew suspicion to his mental health. See also elementary school records, where similar events allegedly took place. Doctor Maurice Steckler recommended a mental health evaluation, with concerns about displaced emotions due to Buddy's father leaving the family and mother's possible physical and verbal abuse. None of this is confirmed, though the child had lacerations on his arms, documented when child was approximately eight years old. In past, child told tall tales of his father dying a gruesome death when in fact he moved out of state and is no longer in contact with the family. Child suspected to have a warped reality that reaches farther than lies, due to his obsession and now hatred of public figures (Supers) and unrealistic expectations about them. Restraining order against Buddy from one Mr Incredible, though now dropped post Supers gone into hiding (dropped on Buddy's fourteenth birthday). Good grades but low level of ambition, possible depression or perhaps he is bored. High IQ but according to his teachers he struggles greatly with completing work. Often has clever ideas but does not follow them through well enough to complete the assignment, or becomes easily side-tracked or distracted."

She turns the page of her notes, and continues.

"First impressions. Client very chatty and vivacious. Intense eye contact, staring at practitioner's below-neck area- typical of a male his age though this must be surveyed as it could be a sign of sexual aggression. Has much to talk about though very roaming thoughts. Spun around in office chair. Touched books on the shelves. Put hands in pockets repeatedly. Seemed to laugh the way others do when nervous but was visibly content throughout evaluation. Asked many questions, asked twice "AM I CRAZY", while smiling and laughing.

A point of interest—client states, "You're my third therapist. Well, you're Buddy's third therapist anyway." (When asked what this comment meant, more laughter.) Other questions more typical of a precocious teenager: "Are you married? How old are you anyway? Did you graduate young from college? I could graduate college now and I'm only fifteen but I won't because I have better things to do." Very pointedly : "Do you like kids or are you in this for money or some sort of power trip?" At this, practitioner had to laugh, assured client she likes kids. Client seemed satisfied with answer.

Client says, "People don't like me at my school." When asked why this is, client laughs uncontrollably. Client's mother requests that Buddy be given another medical evaluation. Mother states he does not sleep. Buddy seemed to hold no opinion as to his meds but stated, "My mom wants me to take them. She says I need to be normal." All in all, a good start. Taking Buddy on as regular client."

Castellanos switches the tape recorder off and gathers up her work, placing it in her shiny black briefcase. She can still hear Buddy's jubilant and slightly manic tone of voice in her head and ready for the challenge, she smiles and turns out the lights.


	2. Bedlam

**Chapter Two: Bedlam**

* * *

"So," Buddy begins. "Do you think I'm insane like everyone else does?"

Castellanos pauses, and then laughs in a soft, feminine way. "I don't believe in insanity," she says.

"HA HA HA!" The client's laugh is loud and merry.

"I _don't_," she insists. Her tone is inviting. Playful, even.

"How do ya explain that? Insanity exists. You'd be insane to suggest otherwise." He snickers at his own joke.

"The word _insanity _is often used negatively," she responds coolly. "It's been used for ages to put people in a box, people whose minds might work differently than others' would. Not to mention, it's a term often reserved for oppressed groups. Used to remark upon the unknown."

The client pauses thoughtfully. "Well-answered but I don't appreciate you attempting to psych me out, Doc. Can I call you 'doc'?"

"Psych you out? What makes you say that?"

"I mean, don't pretend to be all touchy feely woo-woo on me. It pisses me off!" His tone of voice is hardly "pissed off". It is closer to jovial than anything else. "Of course insanity exists—"

"Diseases, disorders and illnesses exist. I'm not arguing with you there, Buddy. But for me, insanity is a term that implies negativity—it brings to mind loony bins, asylums… the mistreatment of people who think differently. So I'd appreciate it if we approached this topic a different way—"

"You never said whether I can call you doc, _Doc_," he interrupts. This time he sounds exasperated.

"Yes, because I'd rather you try not to divert the conversation," she says lightly.

"Because that's your job," he says. There's suddenly a hint of nastiness in his voice.

There is a strange pause. The therapist clears her throat. "If you feel I'm diverting the conversation, why don't you tell me what you want to talk about?"

"I almost had you there. Almost. Clean recovery," he replies mischievously. "But that brings us back to my question about insanity. I don't really care whether you like the term or not. I want to know if you think I'm insane."

"Because everyone else does," she states.

"Yeah," he says, and chuckles. "So I doubt you're different, even if you're trying to be politically correct about the usage of the word."

"I don't think you are insane," she says in a very firm tone, "because I don't use the word 'insane'. It's too early for me to comment on whether you have some sort of affliction or difference because this is our first actual session."

"You're not like the others."

"What others?"

"People," he says, and the tape picks up some background noise: footsteps and the rustling of paper as though the client has risen and is perusing the office.

"Who do you trust, Buddy?" she asks warmly.

"I trust myself, and I also trust them," he says, and the ambient noise continues. "Can I borrow this book?"

"Buddy, I'd like for you to try and sit down again. I understand it's difficult. Who are they?"

"Who are what?" He sits, but taps his foot impatiently.

"They," she urges softly.

"You seem too nice for this. I'd hate for you to be disappointed in me," he replies, and is deeply, undeniably sarcastic.

"If you think I'm not like these others you mentioned before, then maybe I won't be disappointed," she says.

"Touché`," Buddy says.

The therapist makes a small noise like laughter. "That's all for today, Buddy."

* * *

Castellanos chews on the end of her pen, a habit her last boyfriend deemed "unattractive", as though she were a programmable doll. She dumped him cordially after the promised promotion and then ended up screwing him over when she quit three weeks later. The last part was unintentional. She'll do many things to get ahead but she was not attempting to send a message or appear vengeful toward him. He was an alright lover, after all. She pauses, wondering why he's even in her mind. The new job and new town can seem lonely, but not _that_ lonely.

She shakes these thoughts from her mind and starts the tape recorder.

"4/16/69. Buddy is fairly forthcoming with his opinions. His constant questioning about being insane and his references to being certain he will disappoint those around him almost seem like a red herring. Buddy has a deep understanding of how therapy has usually worked in the past and how his past therapists have used certain tactics in order to will him to talk. His compliance seems to be a choice; he is almost so aware that he is casual about therapy and seems hopeless regarding medications and cures. Very keen on using humor: perhaps a diversion? Too early to say. He could simply enjoy making jokes." She laughs to herself and the tape cuts off.


	3. The Right Kind of Doctor

**Chapter Three: The Right Kind of Doctor**

* * *

When Buddy enters, Castellanos notes immediately that he looks different today. There are dark circles under his eyes and he slumps back in his chair, staring languidly up at the ceiling. It is only two weeks since their last session.

"Hi Buddy," she greets. "How are you feeling?"

"How does it look?" he croaks. From what the therapist has experienced, Buddy normally speaks in a child-like, quick-paced tone. He sounds dejected and tired now. "I'm… wonderful," he says sarcastically and he looks at her, raising an eyebrow.

She tries hard not to smile at his ever-present sense of humor. "How would you rate your mood on a scale of one to fifty? One being the worst?" she inquires, and holds her pen ready for his response.

"A two," he says quietly. He doesn't move an inch. It's almost as though the formerly high energy Buddy has been replaced with a pod person.

"What does a two feel like?" she asks.

He sets his jaw and stares back up at the ceiling. One minute goes by. She stares at him, her gaze calm and open. Two minutes pass. The therapist wavers in her staring and instead refers to her notes to, she hopes, ease the tension. Another minute passes. The therapist is suddenly aware of how quiet the room is, and of the droning traffic outside the clinic.

"You_ are_ a doctor," Buddy says finally and the therapist looks up quickly, nearly startled. "You have a doctorate. You're just not the right kind."

"Pardon?" she says, smiling warmly, but he is not looking at her.

He sounds annoyed. "I said, you ARE a doctor. But when you didn't answer me about calling you "Doc" last time, was it because you're not the right kind? I mean, technically you're a doctor but your doctorate is in social work so you probably felt like me calling you a doctor in a psychiatry sense was inaccurate. Did you think it would be unethical or something?" He keeps his gaze at the ceiling, but she notices his form relaxing.

The therapist tries to keep composure, but she's already quickly scanning the room, wondering if somehow she has overlooked possibly having a degree from her first university in view of Buddy. But she's correct. The only diploma on the wall is her Master's. "How did you…" She clears her throat. This is the first time she's felt discomfort in his presence. She's been warned against this by the paperwork that transferred with him.

Not to mention, his previous therapists were male and she's already faced discriminatory comments regarding her abilities with this client. Neither of the two male therapists blame themselves for their failings with Buddy. But now they're skeptical of her, scornful. She's received a few phone calls with warnings. Jokes about her not 'knowing the ropes' yet. They do have a few points: Not only is Buddy a teenage boy: he's also white, from a middle-class family, and very possibly a psychotic. Her track record has covered bits from each group but never these identities in one person. "_Can you handle it, Ms. Castellanos. Or is it Mrs.?" _The sneers, and the stares at her tits, and the Old Boy's Club of therapists. It's the same as anywhere, but she'd expected these people to at least have some mental clarity, some self-awareness. She clears her throat again and crosses her legs, burying her thoughts for now. "My first degree _was _in social work. I'm wondering exactly where you—"

"Surprised? I found you online," Buddy says loudly, finally looking her directly in the eye. "It wasn't too hard." He's bragging, sticking out his chest. "So why'd you settle for this job?"

She feels her body growing tense. Come to think of it, she had read in his file that he was a "computer geek" (his own explanation) and a "hacker" (his school's term) and that he obsessed about everything to do with technology. He'd been suspended shortly from his school this past year for messing with his school's computer. She's thinking she should have, could have seen this coming. "Why are we discussing me? This is your time, Buddy," she says pleasantly.

"Knowing more about you helps me trust you. Besides, I need to know about colleges. I'm applying soon," he says simply. "The article I found said that you really knew your stuff. I'm just wondering why you'd give that up for this job."

"I went back and forth," she says, and is carefully tight-lipped, robotic. _It's not customary to share too much of oneself with one's client _says a nagging voice that's in the back of her mind the entire time she speaks. But she likes Buddy and if this is helpful for him, she's willing to give it a try. "First I was an activist. I started out wanting to work with impoverished youth, then back-tracked and decided instead of the psychology degree I'd like to be a researcher for social work purposes. I enjoyed working behind the scenes but I didn't feel like I was making enough real change. I enjoy actually interacting with my clients. I think it's a lot more real. The betterment of people is what drives me forward." She's surprised at how noble she sounds. She supposes this is healthier than going on a rant about how people are fucked up and she's trying to find a cure for the stupidity of society. It's been a rough week.

Buddy sits up and there's a merrier look in his eye. "That's cool!" he says approvingly. "And thanks for telling the truth. If you had lied… I'd know," he says and laughs but his tone is much brighter.

She has to smile. From all she's heard about this client, he's not so bad. Maybe the others just didn't have a sense of humor.

His stance is much more confident now. "Another thing I learned. You competed in some modeling competition when you were in your last year of high school." He scans her over and gives a low whistle. "I only found a few badly taken photos but… you are a major, major babe. Not that I didn't think that already."

Dr. Castellanos makes sure she does not react but the moment their session has ended and Buddy has departed, she feels herself blush deeply.

* * *

"5/2/1969. Buddy seemed to be completely the opposite of his usual demeanor at the beginning of the session. Slack, tired, bags under eyes. His mother called in this week saying he has been regularly taking his medication. Perhaps a side effect? Biggest difference was voice. He stated himself to be at a 2/50, but could not explain what a 2 meant to him. Diverted the conversation to therapist, and admitted to researching therapist online. Found photos of therapist in my city's Miss Latina competition. Did a search on own computer and brought up no such photos, proof of client's ability to track down data online impressively. Inappropriate comment regarding therapist as a "babe", again, seems normal for age vs. sexually aggressive. Voice changed noticeably once he realized therapist was not going to lie to him regarding her background. His self judgment seems good to fair. Mentioned wanting to apply to colleges—ambition and goals lead me to believe his mental states are something he has control over."

At this point he's unsure about Buddy's mental state, though his mother has been pressing for her to give him a quick evaluation to better suit his medical needs. The fact is, Castellanos has seen what medications, prescribed wrong, can do to children. So far, she has not seen enough of Buddy to evaluate him accurately. He's a bit socially odd but not horribly so, and his tendency to rant and joke showcases more of a quirky nature than anything else. She checks the clock on the wall and realizes she's running late for dinner.

She quickly fixes her hair, using her computer screen and pulls on her blazer. She's meeting up with her father as part of his whirlwind tour of the area. She's surprised he could squeeze dinner in between all of his meetings with prospective clients but happy all the same.

When she sees him in the bar, sporting a clipped mustache and holding his typical dry martini, she smiles out of habit and hurries over to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. He immediately orders her a cocktail and launches into a story about how he's still dealing with bullshit from his clients affected by the Supers. He complains of how some have lifelong trauma (he defended the women, among others, in the unfortunate x-ray vision scandal) and how the Supers will really never understand how much negativity they caused in their so-called "golden age". She scoffs along with him. She finds the entire ordeal just as obnoxious as he does. Her second drink in, she looks around the bar just in case anyone's listening and leans in to tell her father about Buddy.

"I've just taken on a client, a teenage boy, whose life was completely rocked by the fact that Mr. Incredible didn't live up to his standards. We haven't broached the subject just yet, but his records indicate that Incredible placed a sort of restraining order on him when he was only nine years of age. He's fifteen now and he's had so many issues with his identity." She pauses and sighs. "It seems Incredible couldn't even offer the boy any support, he couldn't even feign interest -"

"Mr. Incredible was the most arrogant and self-absorbed of them all," sneers her father. "I feel for this kid, but you should tell him the world's cruel and harsh and that he should just get on with it." He orders himself another drink and pats her arm. She has to smile.


	4. Mommy Dearest

**A/N: **Now I'm revising this author's note because I always sound slightly off my rocker in my author's notes...

*shifty eyes* In short: I revised chapters one through three after deciding my original story idea (tape recording transmission) wasn't exactly the route I wanted to take. This fic will likely be 9 to 10 chapters long. I'm on a Syndrome kick right now (especially since my Snape fics are depressing the hell out of me. may as well be depressed about another fandom for a second, right?) I've long since wanted to make a better backstory for Mirage. I dislike that she's pretty much the most hated character in the fandom. 'Cause personally, I think she's bad ass.

Woo. Longer chapter! I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Chapter Four:** **Mommy Dearest**

* * *

On Sunday evening, Castellanos' work mobile rings unexpectedly and she has to jump out of the bathtub to fetch it. She places her glass of white wine and the most recent issue of _Time _on the edge of the marble bathroom sink, and ties her favorite silk robe around her waist.

_"Meranda Castellanos speaking."_

_"He's going to hurt himself, I just know it!" _

_"Who is this? You know, if this is an emergency, you need to call 911-"_

_"Please don't hang up! This is Martha Pine! Billy's-"_

_"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" _comes an enraged shout from the background. Castellanos can hear objects being thrown against a wall. She's never heard Buddy's voice sound quite like this. He sounds like a small child at the supermarket who has been told he cannot have any candy.

_"Buddy's mother! He won't listen to me! He won't take his medicine! It's the third day-"_

_"CAN I TALK TO HER? LET ME TALK TO HER!"_

Castellanos clears her throat and agrees that she would speak to Buddy briefly. _"Buddy. Can you sit down and take a few deep breaths?"_

_"No! Tell her to stop controlling my life. She's trying to get rid of my inventions-"_

_"They're not inventions! Tell her the truth! They're weapons! You could kill someone! You could kill yourself!"_

_"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" _Buddy asks, and chuckles darkly._ "Look, Doc, I'm going crazy here." _He sounds surprisingly calm almost instantly, that petulant childish tone no longer present in his voice.

_"Maybe you should have considered that before you stopped your meds cold turkey, Buddy. Last time, you were so quiet, so-"_

_"Locked up," _Buddy says. _"When I take my medicine, I get all locked up. Do you know what that feels like?"_

Castellanos pauses and she can hear his breathing, wild and heavy, through the receiver. She racks her brain for a way to calm him down. If she makes something up, he'll see right past it. _"Of course I feel locked up,"_ she says_. "Maybe not in the same way, because I've never been prescribed the medicine you're on. But of course I've felt locked up in other ways. I feel locked up in a societal sense. I feel locked up when I want to say something but can't-"_

"If_ she throws away my supplies, I'm going to throw a fit."_ He shouts, "_And by fit, I mean I'm going to go all medieval on you, Mom." _

_"Please don't threaten your mother, Buddy," _Castellanos says. _"Threatening people isn't going to get you your way in the long run."_

_"Haha! You'd be surprised." _But he sounds merry, at least.

Castellanos redirects the conversation by praising Buddy's creativity. This at the very least brought him into a calmer state, and he agrees to try going to bed. At long last, Castellanos makes Buddy put his mother back on the phone and they set up an emergency appointment.

Before they say their goodbyes, Mrs. Pine whispers into the phone, _"He's very ill. I love him, and he's a genius. I'm not denying that. He likes you. You're the first one he's liked. He can be very funny on his good days. But...Please try to listen to me. He's not a good person. You have to believe me." _With that, Mrs. Pine hangs up.

Castellanos finds herself doing the very thing she'd been trying not to do: She finds herself blaming Buddy's mother. After all, Castellanos does not believe in good or bad people, especially when it comes to young people. To Castellanos, Mrs. Pine sounds like an ignorant woman who is medicating her son for her own sanity. After all, she loves her own father but it's due to his lack of empathy and no bullshit view on the world that she is the way she is and she views these so-called 'broken children' in the same way. She and her father now have a good relationship but not everyone gets out that lucky.

* * *

"Let's talk about the weapons, Buddy. You've never mentioned that before," Castellanos says carefully, smiling in her calm way.

"Are you angry?" he asks, and makes a mock look of concern, ginger eyebrows raised sky-high.

She chortles. "No," she says. "But after our phone conversation, I'm thinking it wouldn't be such a bad subject to discuss."

"It's not exactly as horrible as Mommy Dearest made it sound. She used to give me an allowance so that I could buy comic books and materials but she stopped giving that out after she thought I took it all too far." He does air quotes and rolls his eyes. "And because I didn't have an allowance, I couldn't afford to do anything I loved like building stuff, or making costumes or inventing things. That's when I started browsing around on online forums looking for people who were interested in buying my inventions. I also gave them the option to send me the money to buy materials, or trade me things for my work. I've met a lot of friends through that, and they're the only friends I have. Mom and I usually get along, but when she threatens to get rid of my materials or the internet- whoa boy, do I get mad!" He laughs. "The internet is my life-"

"And these inventions are...?"

"Some are phony props," he begins, and she notices how comfortable he looks, how proud. He gestures as he speaks, and wears a smile on his freckled face. "You know, guys can use them to go to cons or to LARP-"

She cocks her head to the side. "And that means what?"

"Oh right! Conventions, like comicbook conventions or whatever. And larping is live-action-role playing." Castellanos doesn't ask but makes a note to look whatever _that _is up later. "I make all kinds of prop weapons and I can also make some costumes, though that isn't exactly what I like doing best. I'm a shoddy seamstress, heh heh. But working on it. Cons are great. I love dressing like other people. You can totally become a character for the day and no one will know who you really are! It's awesome. Then, I make some real weapons and that's what Mom can't stand. But she doesn't get it. She hasn't even looked at the forums, or what I actually do. She's not interested. She just wants to police that like she does everything else. She doesn't want me to succeed! There's no way she'd even understand. She was as normal as you can be. She doesn't understand me!"

Castellanos scribbles a few notes. It's difficult to keep up. "You said she used to give you an allowance. What was it that changed?"

Buddy's face visibly darkens. "I'm sure you know," he says. "I'm sure it's written in one of those files. But, okay, you don't have to twist my arm. I'll tell you. I used to be really into Supers. I don't remember a time when I wasn't into them. I was pretty little when I first saw Mr. Incredible on television and I wanted to be just like him. Well, either that or have him in my family. I thought he'd be so cool in person! And then..." He sighs, makes a fist. "I actually met him a few times in elementary school when I was the head of the fan club. And I couldn't get his catchphrases out of my head. I had this big poster with him on it that said 'be true to yourself' and I didn't know what that meant because I changed my mind a lot about who I was. Nothing really fit. But THEN, I realized I could be his assistant and maybe THAT could give me some answers! I thought it was who I was meant to be!"

She nods sympathetically. "You know, Buddy, everyone goes through phases where they don't know who they are. Even adults-"

"Don't give me that," he says tersely. "Look, I know myself. I know I change my mind about who I am, and it didn't stop with Mr. Incredible breaking my dreams of helping him and crushing me. Because even now I feel like I have several people inside me and don't look at me and tell me you know how that feels."

His blue eyes challenge her green ones. She doesn't look away. "Who are the people that are inside of you, Buddy?"

"I can't... I can't really say, because it's a feeling. And like I said, it changes. I'll think I'm one person and then the next day, it will be like that person never existed. Dr. Maurice had me on special meds to stabilize my moods and he thought that would stop the weird thoughts but the meds just took away my energy." He pauses. "You don't look scared."

She isn't. After all, she's changed career paths three times already. She doesn't have plans to marry, she's never had a proper relationship unless she had a motive, and she's been called both callous and compassionate by different people. She's been compared to ice by others. As for Buddy's online business transactions, she's not quite certain why Mrs. Pine is so concerned. She finds it impressive and wishes she'd had that kind of idea or interest as a teenager. The problem with Buddy isn't what's on the surface, this she knows to be true.

"There's nothing for me to be scared of. You don't seem crazy to me at all, Buddy," she says honestly. "I'd like to continue these kinds of conversations to determine if there's a medication combination that may work better for you, one that doesn't kill your moods or make you have unstable thoughts. One thing I will recommend is that you do not sell weapons, even mock weapons, at school. You don't need another charge against you. Am I correct?"

He nods slowly. "I won't. I don't want to get suspended again."

"And in the meantime you need to put your energy into your ambition, Buddy. Think of how positive that could be. You mentioned before that you're looking into colleges. Have you considered business classes?"

"A little," he says, and his body language is changing; he's perking up.

"I have an assignment for you, Buddy. I want you to make a business plan for yourself, and I want you to share it with me the next time we meet. Our session for this week is now over."

He grins and nods. "Homework I actually want to do! SCORE!" He gallops out of her office, and she can hear him entering the waiting room saying, _"Mom! Mom! Guess what!"_

She smiles, happy they've finally established good rapport.

* * *

"5/20/1969. Buddy's moods are highly controlled by the medications that he has been prescribed since he was a young child. Some appear to have given him long-lasting negative reactions. He has an array of interests that he is deeply passionate about, and a trade that can become useful to him post- high school. His issues with identity seem to affect his moods severely but do not affect his ability to perform routine tasks- at least, he is able to go to school, socialize online with friends and enjoy his hobbies. He is highly fixated on the incident with Mr. Incredible and feeling inferior to others seems to be a theme in his life- his mother, people at school. He feels largely misunderstood and at odds with the world. This, as his previous two therapists have already noted, has a narcissistic quality but it is too early to make a diagnosis in that area. Buddy's mother seems to be concerned about him as a person, and he believes that she does not see him for who he is. They are constantly at odds."

There is a soft knock on the door and she shuts off her tape recorder. "Yes?"

Dr. Dominique Thorton enters and smiles at her. "I've been meaning to come by to offer my congratulations, first on your article and second on the excellent feedback you've been getting here."

She smiles back, looking him in the eye just enough. "Thanks. That piece was three years in the making, and of course the study is nearly irrelevant by this point-"

"You're too modest," he says, "especially for a woman of your..." His eyes scan her body briefly. "Talents. Have a drink with me?"

She leans back in her chair and considers it. Not the consequences, but the rewards. His dimples, the thin gold band on his finger, the leather briefcase and Armani suit. "Sure," she says casually. "I've been meaning to develop my office relationships."

He winks at her wryly and she thinks back to the session. Sometimes she feels like she is more than several people, and that's on a good day.


End file.
